


a valet calls

by Nara_stories



Category: Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Scene Rewrite, Shaving, Tom POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nara_stories/pseuds/Nara_stories
Summary: This is the rewrite of Tom Byrd's and Lord John Grey's first meeting in 'Lord John and the Private Matter' from Tom's POV. Contains dialogue directly from the book.“Who are you?” Lord John Grey asked in a surprised, but not unfriendly way. He was looking at him above the rim of his teacup with sleepy blue eyes.“Tom Byrd, me lord,” he replied bowing smartly.The man drew his elegant brows together, thinking. He was a very handsome man even unshaven with dishevelled hair.
Relationships: Tom Byrd/Lord John Grey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	a valet calls

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 280th Birthday to our wee Byrd! ;) Tom, unfortunately, doesn't have a canon birthday, but a few of us decided to pick a date and celebrate him. This fic was written for that. Enjoy <3

a valet calls

Tom was nervous to the point of feeling dizzy. He told himself, that as long as he didn’t let it show, it was okay.

Once Mr Trevelyan would realize that he took the liberty to read his correspondence, left the house without permission and on top of that lied about his master sending him – and it was a matter of when not if – he would be in a lot of trouble. It was also okay, as long as he found his brother. Alive. If not, it hardly mattered at all.

He took a deep breath and clutched his hat tighter in his hands as he watched Lord John Grey’s orderly knock on the door and announce his presence to his master. It dawned on him then that the man he was about to lie to was a lord. He licked his lips nervously. It was okay.

When Private Adams stepped to the side and gestured him forward he squared his shoulders and walked into the room. By the look of it, this was the bedroom of Lord John Grey and Tom briefly wondered if he indeed intended to receive a complete stranger there.

His question was answered when upon seeing him, His Lordship blinked as if Tom had just materialized out of thin air. Tom shot a quick look at the orderly. Did the man know at all what he was doing? He quickly turned his attention back to the lord.

The man looked like someone who just rolled out of bed a minute ago. He was sitting in front of a dresser, in his nightshirt, slippers and some sort of flowy garment that had the most horribly clashing stripes Tom had seen in his life. The sight immediately took the edge of his fear away.

“Who are you?” Lord John Grey asked in a surprised, but not unfriendly way. He was looking at him above the rim of his teacup with sleepy blue eyes.  
“Tom Byrd, me lord,” he replied bowing smartly.

The man drew his elegant brows together, thinking. He was a very handsome man even unshaven with dishevelled hair.

“Byrd. Byrd. Oh, Byrd!” His blue eyes finally cleared with some sort of realization, and the tea sloshed dangerously in his hand, threatening to spill out. He noticed this and solved the issue promptly by taking another sip. Tom fought back a smile. The handsome lord seemed to be the exact opposite of a morning person.

“Why are you -, “ Lord John Grey started, cutting himself off immediately. “Oh. Perhaps Mr Trevelyan has sent you?”  
Tom swallowed, grateful that it was he who brought up the idea first. This was the tricky part. He felt bad about lying, he really did. But the lie was just in the particulars. Who sent him or didn’t send him, what sort of position he held. What really mattered wasn’t a lie: that he would be helping this man in whatever way possible, to aid him in the investigation. To find his brother.

So he drew himself up to his full height and spoke calmly.  
“Yes, me lord. Colonel Quarry sent him a note last night, saying as how you was going to be looking into the matter of… er-hem.” He cleared his throat with a sideways glance at Private Adams. Matters like these were always best handled with the utmost discretion, there was nothing good coming about from being chatty here.  
“Mr Trevelyan said as how I was to come and assist, whatsoever thing it might be your lordship had need of.” 

He said the words while still observing Adams, firstly because they were completely untrue, and he didn’t want this showing on his face, second, because the man was idly swishing a shaving brush in a soap mug in a manner of a lousy housewife pretending to sweep. Whatever was he meaning to do with that?

“Oh? I see; how kind of him.” There was a warm undertone of amusement in Lord John’s voice. Then he continued with polite interest. “What duties are you accustomed to perform in Mr Trevelyan’s household, Tom?”

Tom has never heard his name being spoken out loud so soft like that. It made him feel strangely special and he was even more sorry for replying to it with a lie.  
“I’m a footman, sir,” he answered, compensating with as much dignity as he could muster.

Lord John rubbed his upper lip, and Tom thought he was even handsome when he was secretly laughing at him.

His attention was once again drawn to Private Adams who meanwhile took up a razor in one hand, strop the other, and then after a brief moment of hesitation abandoned the former with a look of panic on his face. Then he decided that testing the edge of the razor against the sole of his shoe was an acceptable practice. Tom’s father would have kicked him out on the spot if not giving him a thrashing with the strop first. It was quite the formidable weapon when used that way, Tom could attest to that.

Lord John watched the man with a mild air of fascination as well and probably came to a similar conclusion regarding his skill at barbering.  
“Tell me, Byrd, have you any experience at valeting?”

Tom diplomatically tore his eyes away from Adams and stared into His Lordship’s blue eyes instead, feeling like they were sharing some small secret.  
“No, me lord – but I can shave a man.”

There was a tiny flicker of a smile on Lord John’s lip.  
“You can, can you?” He looked at him with interest, realizing that Tom was being earnest.  
“Yes, me lord,” Tom answered proudly. “Father’s a barber, and us boys’d shave the bristle from the scalded hogs he bought for us to make brushes of. For practice, like,” he added quickly with a shrug, hoping the man wouldn't think he was comparing him to a pig.

“Hmm.” Lord John glanced at himself in the mirror in front of him, scraping a hand down his face. His beard grew a few shades darker than his fair hair, but it was thick, hairs glinting in the morning light. Tom hoped he was allowed to shave him. And not just because he was curious how he would look without it.

“All right,” His Lordship decided. “Adams – give the razor to Tom here, if you please,” he indicated with an elegant flick of his hand. “Then go and brush my oldest uniform, and tell the coachman I shall require him.”

This was how Tom Byrd has found himself alone with a lord who he only met a few minutes prior, about to hold a blade to his face. His nervousness came back, this time for an entirely different reason. He wanted to prove himself.  
He took the leather strop and hooked it over the back of the chair Lord John was sitting on. He quickly wiped the razor against the leg of his trouser – god knows where the orderly’s filthy shoe had been – then he proceeded to strop it. Quick, fluid downstroke, flipping the razor over the back of the blade, then stroking up, holding the strip of leather nice and firm the whole time, just like his father taught him.

His Lordship leaned his elbow on the back of the chair and watched him with the fair arch of one of his eyebrows lifted, clearly impressed. It made Tom feel oddly warm and happy, but he didn’t want to show it. He held the razor up instead, examining it in the light.

It glinted nice and sharp. He nodded to himself, satisfied. That will do. He didn’t want to uncomfortably pull a single hair on the lord’s face, let alone accidentally nick him.

He picked up the abandoned soap mug, sad bubbles popping and swirling from Private Adams’ previous feeble attempt at working up a lather. Tom swirled the brush vigorously, just like he saw his father doing it. Both the brush and the soap were of the finest quality, it didn’t take long, just a few expert twists of his wrist to create a thick white foam.

There was a clean, folded towel on the dresser. Tom picked it up and shook it loose. Lord John was still watching him twisted back in his chair, but he settled back comfortably as Tom approached and he let him drape the towel around his neck, tucking it into his nightshirt. Tom couldn’t help but notice how the few stray chest hairs peeking out were the exact same shade of dark blond as his beard.

To distract himself from the way this small detail made him feel, he picked up another towel and draped it over his left arm. Then he took up the brush again and applied the suds generously to Lord John’s face. He took great care to wriggle the lather in between the hairs. He went back for another helping, and squeezed the brush flat, using the very edge to carefully paint above the man’s upper lip with the rest of the foam.

Then he picked up the razor. Their eyes met. Lord John was looking at him intently, gaze half encouragement, half challenge. Tom could do nothing else but accept.

He placed his left thumb gently on the man’s temple, pulling the skin tight. The razor made a satisfying scraping sound as he shaved off the first bit. Once he started, he felt more steady. He’d done this a dozen times and watched his father do it for years. The razor became an extension of his hand. It was so easy to follow Lord John’s elegant features. As if he was the sculptor revealing this handsome face out of a chunk of marble.

The freshly shaven skin was butter-soft under his thumb and forefinger that he moved bit by bit, keeping the skin tight and simultaneously checking for missed patches, pouring all his attention into the task. He made sure to wipe the razor often on the second towel, keeping the blade nice and clean.

Lord John let him tilt his head with gentle touches and Tom noticed that somewhere in the last two minutes he has closed his eyes. An indescribable feeling rose up in his chest at this small, maybe insignificant display of trust.

 _I’m sorry I’ve lied to you,_ he thought. _I will never betray you, I promise._

It was foolish. The man will give him over to justice as soon as he realized he hasn’t been truthful. This was a fleeting acquaintance. But one that hopefully led them to find Jack.

Tom tilted Lord John’s chin up and the man rested his head on the back of the chair. His hands were relaxed on the armrests, legs comfortably apart even as Tom brought the razor to his throat and started running it along the thin, vulnerable skin there. Tom’s head buzzed with the intensity of it all, but he remained completely focused. He couldn’t bear the thought of causing even the smallest of discomfort to His Lordship.

He gently swept the razor over the curve of his chin. These were the trickier parts.

Tom took a step forward so that he was standing right next to the chair and leaned forward, perhaps a touch closer than what would have been polite. He placed his thumb just at the edge of Lord John’s mouth, steadying his jaw with his forefinger while he shaved the little dimple of his chin. Lord John’s eyes opened, just a sliver of blue in the morning light.

Tom allowed himself to trace the shape of his lips with his gaze as he shaved around them. Lord John had gorgeous lips. Finely shaped, full and pink. He instinctively sucked his upper lip in just a bit when Tom started on his moustache.

A strange feeling fluttered in Tom’s belly and he stuck his tongue out in concentration as he finished the last bits.

There was a split second when he pulled the razor away when Lord John opened his eyes and they just stared at each other. It made Tom feel hot all over. Now, with all the stubble shaved away he was even more handsome, skin clean and fair, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline.

Lord John brought a hand to his face, breaking the moment. He stroked along his cheek, humming and Tom’s hand twitched with the incomprehensible urge to do the same.

“Very good. Well done, Tom,” Lord John spoke up, voice soft like silk. Tom cleared his throat and wiped the razor one more time on the towel draped across his forearm, by now wet with soapy water.

“Said I could shave a man, me lord,” he mumbled in an effort to regain his footing against the assault of unfamiliar feelings. Without really thinking he picked up the hairbrush from the dresser and started untangling the man’s fair hair.

There was a glint of surprise in those blue eyes, but Lord John let him, wordlessly handing him a navy blue silk ribbon when the brush was freely gliding through the strands. Tom fumbled with it, but on the second try, he managed to tie it into a neat little bow. He straightened up with a satisfied huff and was completely caught off guard when Lord John smiled at him.

It was like the sun breaking through the clouds, bright and dazzling. Tom felt his breath hitch.

He was saved by a knock on the door. Private Adams came back, with Grey’s uniform.

Lord John stood up and gestured for Adams to put the clothes down on the bed.  
“Thank you, Adams. Help ready the coach while Mr Byrd helps me dress.”

The man bowed and left the room before Tom could protest. He really had no experience at valeting and suddenly felt himself quite out of his depth. Looking at the pile of clothes he realized that there were a lot more of parts to a dress uniform than he ever thought.

Lord John must have been aware of this because he spoke in a conspiring manner.

“I’ll show you how it’s done, and you’ll remember next time.”

Tom nodded, then focused on keeping his mouth shut and his expression as blank as possible as Lord John discarded his night clothes.

By the time the man has fully dressed again Tom’s face was probably the same shade of red as his scarlet coat and it had a lot more to do with the man himself as the intricacies of the uniform. Lord John smoothed down his coat one more time.

“All right, Mr Byrd. Ready to view a dead body?” he asked with a touch of satire in his voice.

“Just a second, me lord,” Tom interjected, noticing something. Lord John turned to him, surprised as he picked up the discarded towel and approached him. He reached up and wiped away the small speck of soap from the shell of his ear, he missed earlier.

The blue eyes flickered across his face and Lord John made a sound. It was a chuckle. But so sweet, the sound swept across Tom’s body in a hot wave. He rounded the man stubbornly, checking the other side. It would have been awkward if he didn’t. His Lordship couldn’t find out how strangely flustered he made Tom feel.

Tom deposited the towel and picked up his hat, schooling his features. No matter how fascinated he found the man, their acquaintance was most probably going to be short-lived. He mustn’t get attached, he scolded himself. 

Even though he knew deep down, that it was too late for that.


End file.
